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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22477783">Scrapbook</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/pseuds/Minne_My'>Minne_My</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family, Gen, namesake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:53:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22477783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/pseuds/Minne_My</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grandmother to granddaughter</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scrapbook</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>She sat down at the table, box</p><p>At her side, sifting through letters that time</p><p>Forgot, picking up the scissors,</p><p>Snipping through the ribbon with a smile.</p><p>The delicate prints faded to sepia</p><p>She whispered the name like an incantation, Alex.</p><p> </p><p>All the time</p><p>She spent at the table, the new pair of scissors</p><p>Cutting the old parchment with a smile,</p><p>The faces made her marvel, to look up and still see sepia</p><p>After that whole grey rainy day with that girl Alex</p><p>Shut up today with that box</p><p> </p><p>Of memories that she could just scissor</p><p>Out of her life. But why would she? She had to smile</p><p>About that flash of sepia</p><p>That came to Alex</p><p>In a chocolate box</p><p>Falling apart with time.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at her, who could have guessed the laugh, that smile</p><p>The lady in the photograph meant, the one in the coat of sepia,</p><p>The one whose name was Alex.</p><p>Could she have guessed that she was to languish in this broken down box</p><p>In an attic thick with dust and smelling of time,</p><p>Waiting for that pair of scissors?</p><p> </p><p>Next came the glue, ivory on sepia,</p><p>To stick the other Alex</p><p>Down on the page, finally free from the box.</p><p>With a bit of time,</p><p>She’ll get used to it. Once again, the scissors</p><p>Flash in the fading light. The light that reflected in the morning, that radiant smile</p><p> </p><p>Which made the other Alex</p><p>Rescue her out of the old box</p><p>To be immortalised for all time</p><p>In the new scrapbook. Putting down the exhausted scissors,</p><p>She contemplated her work and propped the book open on the desk with a smile</p><p>And went to bed, her grandmother’s coat and face striking sepia.</p><p> </p><p>Released from her prison box,</p><p>She has reason to smile</p><p>Watching over her namesake, Alex.</p>
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